


21 Mornings

by aloha_cowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Mornings, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 23:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17928047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloha_cowgirl/pseuds/aloha_cowgirl
Summary: Dean watches Castiel sleeping in the morning.





	21 Mornings

The first morning Dean peeked his head into Castiel’s room, the corner of his lips turned up at the sight. The former angel was sprawled across his bed, one knee peeking out from under his blanket as his chest rises and falls in deep, even breaths. His face seemed soft, and it was only then that Dean realized the stress that Castiel wore every day. He thought about the way Castiel had watched over him as he slept before the angel’s fall, wondering if Cas had studied Dean’s face in the same way.

It seemed a shame to wake him, to rip him from his peaceful slumber, but Sam had found them a case and it was time to get moving. He hesitated, watching the slight flutter of lashes for a minute, maybe two, before he finally called his name.

The second morning Dean found himself lingering in the doorway, he’d meant to call Cas to the kitchen for breakfast. They’d been on the road for twelve days, and they’d all been exhausted when they arrived back at the bunker. Being there, all together, safe and happy, made the place almost feel like home.

He smiled at the way Cas bundled his blankets around him, imagining that he’d probably be a blanket hog. Not that he imagined sharing a bed with Cas, but maybe someday Cas would share a bed with someone. Dean’s brows reflexively pinched together and his stomach turned at the thought. Shaking his head, he decided he’d just let Cas sleep in.

The following day, Dean found himself at Cas’s door for the third morning. The door had been left ajar, and on his way to the kitchen, the creak of the old bed caught Dean’s attention. He hadn’t meant to spy, but his feet had become rooted to the floor at the movement. Cas had rolled onto his side and stretched languidly, the blankets slipping down to his waist, baring his shirtless torso. When his eyes finally opened, they found Dean staring.

A deer in headlights, Dean opened his mouth and closed it again, trying desperately to figure out what to say before mustering a “Mornin’” and shuffling off, red-faced, down the hallway.

The fourth morning, Dean found Cas’s door open a little more than the previous day. He didn’t know why he was drawn to watching the man sleep, but as he leaned on the doorframe, he couldn’t deny that he was. Maybe it was the way he sometimes stretched across his bed and other times curled up like a cat on a chilly night. Maybe it was the rhythm of his breathing or the flutter of his lashes. Maybe it was the tiny smile that spread across pink lips. _Wait_.

“Good morning,” Castiel said without opening his eyes.

Dean flushed. Being caught a second time watching Cas sleep definitely slipped him into creeper territory, and this would be the _last_ time, he swore, although that wasn’t the truth.

Every morning, Dean found himself at Castiel’s side until those blue eyes opened unto the world. They didn’t speak about this new routine, and Dean would vehemently deny it, but this was easily his favorite part of the day.

He returned on the fifth morning, this time not panicking when Castiel greeted him with a gravelly “Hello, Dean.”

On the seventh morning, he placed a warm mug of coffee on the little table beside Cas’s bed.

On the eleventh morning, a chair had appeared in the corner of the room.

On the fourteenth morning, Dean didn’t bother changing out of his pajamas, instead crawling right out of his own bed and crossing the hallway to curl up on the chair until Castiel awakened.

On the eighteenth morning, when Dean slipped into the room, there was a creak of springs. Castiel had shifted to one side of the bed, still curled under his blankets. With eyes still closed, he patted the space beside him. Dean hesitated for a moment.

With a sigh, he acquiesced and sat on the bed. He tucked only his feet under the edge of the blanket and leaned back against the headboard. The warmth of Cas near his side and the soothing sound of his breathing relaxed Dean into forgetting that he had ever questioned crawling into the bed.

On the twentieth morning, Dean woke before dawn. He’d had a nightmare, as he sometimes did, and the images of Hell kept him from falling back asleep. He wandered the halls, the library, the kitchen, the war room… but there was only one place he wanted to be.

He perched on the edge of Castiel’s bed. The movement of the mattress and the creak of the old springs must have alerted Cas to his presence, because he slid to one side, holding the blanket up for Dean to slide in. Without a word, Castiel wrapped Dean into his arms. As Dean lay in the arms of the angel that rescued him from Hell, he knew that this was his safe place. Home.

On the twenty-first day, Dean didn’t tiptoe into Castiel’s room. There was no warm mug of coffee waiting on the small table beside the bed. The chair sat empty in the corner of the room. The bed remained cold and empty.

Dean woke up in his own bed when the cold air sent a chill up his spine. He pulled his blankets back around him and settled back into the warmth of his bed, smiling to himself as he wrapped his arms around Cas’s warm body. He’d been right all along.

Castiel _was_ a blanket hog.

 

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